


There’s No Way to Elegantly Eat Noodles

by HeylelAndGoldenWings



Series: The Pigeon Fics [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcoholism, Crying, Drinking, Hints at Sub!Aramis, M/M, Noodles, Other, Panic Attack, Panic Attacks, Pigeons, Sad, Sad!Aramis, Sad!Athos, of course, olive garden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeylelAndGoldenWings/pseuds/HeylelAndGoldenWings
Summary: Athos is having a bad day.  Aramis takes matters into his own hands.





	There’s No Way to Elegantly Eat Noodles

There is no way to eat noodles elegantly. Athos had discovered this on his first date with Porthos and Aramis. They went to Olive Garden, and by the end, Aramis was a mess and Athos was just barely stopping himself from crying. Porthos looked okay, but really, he probably wasn’t.    
  
As most things in Athos’ life go, their first date went terribly. And then there were more, and they went better.  So yeah.    
  
There is absolutely no elegant way to eat noodles. Athos has tried, many times. In the restaurants of Italy, in the streets of New York, in the diners of France.    
  
Athos leans his head back and groans.  Aramis glances up, eyebrow raised. He looks so small, in his fluffy pajamas and Porthos’ large sweatshirt. Athos swoons and resists the urge to kiss him dizzy.    
  
“Anything you wanna share, Athos?” Aramis asks, voice teasing. Athos rolls his eyes, and waves a hand in his boyfriend’s general direction.    
  
“Aramis, that was a frustrated groan. Not a sexual one.”   
  
“That’s no fun,” Aramis decides. “I was feeling bored. It’s been so long since we...” He looks sad for a second, really. Hurt, maybe. The look passes quickly, and he’s smiling all too soon. Athos chooses to ignore the look of grief (against his better judgment. He knows it’ll come to kick him in the ass later).  “Dios, life is so dark without the wonders of pleasure. What’s wrong?”   
  
Athos nods once, and takes a moment for himself before speaking.  “I was thinking that it has been a very long time since we had pasta.”   
  
Aramis inclines his head. “We could go to Olive Garden. d’Arty still hasn’t eaten there!”     
  
Athos does kiss him dizzy at that.    
  
***   
  
It’s one of Athos’ bad days, again. Everyone knows as soon as he opens his eyes. He looks more tired than usual and he doesn’t have anything sarcastic to stay at breakfast.    
  
Aramis decides he must take matters into his own hands. Porthos and d’Artagnan are plotting in the living room, and Aramis has to push away his feelings of being left out. What matters right now is Athos. He can... he can do this.    
  
He’s going to catch another pigeon. It can’t be that hard, really. They’re everywhere he turns. It’s a wonder Aramis can even step outside without going into a panic- but he’s managed to far. Catching one can’t be too hard. And Treville the Pigeon is probably lonely.    
  
He nervously ties his hair up, slaps on sunglasses to hide his frantic eyes, and makes his way to Athos’ room to tell him goodbye. He gives him a kiss and then says his goodbyes to the others.    
  
Once he’s out, net and cage in one hand, he takes a swig from the flask he stole from Athos. Yeah, not a good way to solve problems... but what else can a man do?    
  
***   
  
Aramis starts sobbing as soon as he gets through the door. Ugly, sort-of-drunk sobs, hands quivering and body wracking. The bird chirps in its cage. It’s a good bird, he thinks. He thinks. He didn’t- it walked right up to him. It was nice and probably didn’t have fleas.    
  
He sobs harder, sinking to the floor. He lets the bird out after a moment of hesitation. It hops onto him and is nice and doesn’t do anything bad, but his heart is hammering and he just can’t stop crying.    
  
God, this was supposed to be Athos’ day. Aramis was supposed to be fine.    
  
He laughs hysterically. Apparently Porthos and d’Artagnan hadn’t heard his crying, which was both a blessing and a curse.    
  
He stands, shoos the bird back in the cage.  “Good birdy,” he croaks. The bird coos. Aramis flinches.    
  
After wiping his tears away and trying to put a somewhat friendly smile on his face, he struts into the living room, where Porthos, d’Artagnan and Athos are... snuggling.    
  
Aramis winces. Okay. Fine. He lifts his his head proudly, grinning. “Athos, baby, I got you a present!”   
  
“Are you drunk?” d’Artagnan asks instantly, jumping up. “Are you okay?”   
  
“Present,” Aramis repeats stubbornly. “I want him to see his present.”   
  
Porthos looks unsure, Athos looks confused, and d’Artagnan looks worried.  The youngest of the four wraps his arm around Aramis, coaxing him to take a seat on the couch.    
  
Aramis opens the cage, and the bird walks out. He forces himself not to look away. “It’s a good bird,” he says finally. “It didn’t attack me. I got it for you.”   
  
Athos looks... not happy. He doesn’t look happy. Aramis gulps and sniffles and buries his head in his hands.  The only sound is the bird. Aramis eventually straightens himself up, and wraps his arms around Athos. “I thought you would like it. Really. It’s okay if you don’t-“   
  
“I love it,” Athos assures him, voice all wet, like he’s... he’s crying. “Aramis, you didn’t have to-“   
  
“But I wanted to,” Aramis promises, and pulls him into a kiss.    
  
There’s a few moments of silence, until Porthos finally speaks, yanking at Aramis’ hair a little too forcefully. Aramis doesn’t complain, and melts into it.     
  
“You’ve been crying.”  Of course Porthos can tell. Porthos has always been able to see right through him, like he’s fragile glass, just waiting to be broken.    
  
“...no.”  But he waits a second too long, and everyone is suddenly hugging him.    
  
“It was you,” d’Artagnan says numbly. “Oh my god, I heard you. I just- I’m so sorry.”  He kisses Aramis with a terrible sort of greed. “Baby,” he growls into the kiss. “You have got to... to tell us when things are wrong.”   
  
Athos watches them, calculating. The pigeon is on his lap, plucking at his jeans. Trying to eat them.    
  
“But Athos,” Aramis counters gently. “Don’t worry, my friends. I will always turn out okay. It is just my Athos that I am worried for today.”   
  
***   
  
Athos tries again, and fails, to eat his noodles nicely. They get in his beard and make him look like a child who can’t yet handle himself.    
  
Aramis and Porthos aren’t doing much better. And d’Artagnan... oh, well.    
  
d’Artagnan doesn’t have a beard to get noodles stuck in.  _ He’s _ like a child, really. Slurping up the noodles and giggling giddily.    
  
“Olive Garden is so good!” He cheers as they exit. Athos’ heart aches, but it’s a good ache. He loves his boys a lot, and he... he really believes that they love him, too.   
  
As if answering his thoughts, Porthos slips a hand into his, tugging him toward The Fountain. They have made the tradition of throwing a coin into it each time they pass it.   
  
He wouldn’t have it any other way.    
  
  
  
  



End file.
